Page 35 of The Love Thief

“I told Lassie I wasn’t very knowledgeable about fine art, but I was interested in learning more from both him and Barry.

He did ask me what I was most passionate about, which was easy because I think about food and cooking nearly all the time.

That conversation was interrupted when it was time for us to be seated for lunch,” I recalled.

At that point, Agent Turner took out a folder and placed an eight-by-ten-inch color photo of Lassie in front of me and said, “Holly, do you recognize this man?”

“Yes, that’s Lassie,” I said.

“What can you tell me about the art you saw on display in his home?”

“I know there were a few names I recognized, like Pissarro and Rauschenberg. There were sculptures and some large Chinese vases, and I just assumed it was all expensive, high-quality stuff, but I’m not an expert.

Every room was filled with art, including the guest bathroom that had some beautiful oil miniatures,” I recalled.

Agent Turner nodded, made a few notes, and then asked, “Did you happen to notice anything about a security system in the house?”

I closed my eyes and imagined standing in the grand entrance and then remembered there were small high-tech-looking stainless steel cameras beaming down from every corner of the ceiling.

I remembered wondering if they were also in the guest bathroom, but they were not.

I explained this to Agent Turner, who then asked if I noticed any security people in or around the house and, if there were, did they have weapons.

“I didn’t see any. I met the butler, and I saw a few women in uniforms who appeared to work in the kitchen and also a woman who served us lunch, but I was not introduced to any of them. I’m not sure if the women spoke English.”

“What was discussed at lunch? Did you hear any talk about previous business transactions?”

“Lunch was mostly a discussion about food. Lassie told us we were having a typical meal of what he called ‘highly elevated peasant food,’ which was pretty tasty but not anything I wanted recipes for.”

“What happened after lunch?”

“After we finished our cappuccinos, Lassie suggested that I relax on a lounge chair by the pool while he and Barry conducted some business. Barry grabbed my hand and told Lassie that he wanted me to see the art, and then, while they negotiated, I could hang out on the covered terrace and wait for him. I did catch a glimmer of disapproval in Lassie’s face, but he smiled and said we should follow him.

“So, we went down a spiral staircase, off the main entrance, into a large, ultra-modern-looking home office with beautiful French doors leading to the garden.

The floor was a shiny black marble surface; the desk and other furniture were contemporary, with a sleek, shiny white design; the walls were bare.

The modern look was a surprising contrast to the rest of the house, which was formal and filled with antiques.

“We sat in two matching black leather chairs, possibly Eames chairs, that had these funny red leather things on the legs that appeared to be leg warmers.

Lassie walked into a back room and came out with an easel on which he placed an oil painting that even I recognized was a Monet.

Not a Monet I had ever seen, but clearly a Monet .

. . plus he showed us where it was signed.

“He told us that he had recently acquired it from a family that had found it in the back of an attic after a relative had died. He said this was a painting that hadn’t been seen for at least fifty years, and the family had asked that it not be sold to a museum or go to auction but to find a family that would love it just for its beauty. ”

“Holly, can you describe the painting for me?” Agent Turner interrupted.

“Yes, it was a scene of the painter standing in a garden painting a canvas.”

“Thank you. Please continue.”

“Well, Barry was as excited as can be, even though I could tell he was trying to stay cool. He told Lassie he was a true friend for giving his family first dibs on acquiring a painting of this stature. Lassie seemed very pleased with himself and, as if pretending to be an infomercial salesman, he said to Barry, ‘But wait, there’s more!’ and brought out a slightly smaller painting and placed it on the easel.

“This work was not as beautiful. Lassie said it was a pastel, but it was mostly tones of a sepia-like brown of a woman combing her hair. It was signed up near the top by Degas. It wasn’t anything I would want to hang in my home, but clearly, anything by Degas is probably worth a small or even large fortune.

“I don’t remember what story he told us about where this painting came from,” I offered as an uninformed opinion about it all while I took a moment for a long drink of water.

I explained to Agent Turner that Lassie then opened the French doors, pointed to the alcove with the lounge chairs, and told me to go and relax and enjoy his garden while he and Barry finished up.

“A while later, they came to get me. Barry was carrying a long white tube with a shoulder strap attached, and I assumed the art was in the tube. We thanked Lassie for his hospitality, and when he led us out the front door, a car and driver were waiting to take us back to our hotel.”

“Did Mr. Tavers have a briefcase or anything with him that might have held a lot of cash, and do you have any idea of how much Mr. Tavers paid for the art?” asked Agent Turner.

“No. He didn’t have anything with him besides his wallet and cell phone, and I didn’t dare ask what he paid for the art. Remember, at this point, I had only known him for two weeks. I still didn’t even know his middle name.”

“Do you recall Barry ever mentioning to you visits to Switzerland or the Cayman Islands?”

“No.”

“What do you know about how he earns a living?”

“Well, he told me he works as an attorney and also oversees his family trust and investments, and he acquires art for his parents’ private collection,” I said. Then I shared everything I could remember that Mom had told me the investigator had uncovered about his one-hundred-plus nuisance lawsuits.

Agent Turner then took out another eight-by-ten-inch color photo and placed it in front of me.

Fuck. A sickening wave of shock rushed through me, and I sucked in a very deep breath while trying not to pass out or puke. Threatening me was a crisp and clear photo of us at U.S. Customs at LAX with the art tube slung over my shoulder.

“Holly, can you tell me what is in the art tube?”

The memory of Barry handing me the tube as we took our luggage off the carousel at LAX came flashing back, and I remembered Barry saying to me, ‘Let me wheel our luggage through customs while you carry the art.’”

“Did you see him put the art in the tube?”

“Yes,” I say in a defeated, tiny voice. “I watched Barry take the paintings out of the tube and admire them before he took out three charcoal sketches and carefully rolled the two paintings into them, and put it all back in the art tube.”

“What happened to the art once you returned home?”

“I never saw it again, and we didn’t discuss it.”

“Where do you think the art went?”

“I would imagine he brought it to his parents’ home in Rancho Santa Fe. I know they have a very sophisticated security system with cameras everywhere. I saw them when I catered their event,” I recalled.

“What is the security system like at Barry’s home?” he asked.

I described it to him, including giving him the passcode to turn it off, which, when I was living there, was his mother’s birthday, 7/2/29.

“I remember this date because Barry, oddly and proudly, told me his mom shared a birthday with Imelda Marcos,” I said. I watched Agent Turner trying to suppress a grin.

“Barry liked to make passcodes by using a family member’s first name followed by another family member’s date of birth. His PayPal password was Holly7229# when we were still together. I once watched him enter it on his laptop.”

Agent Turner then gave me a very serious look. “Holly, I will now explain to you why we are here and what is going on. I must remind you that everything I am about to say is highly confidential, and you cannot speak of this to anyone except your legal counsel. Do you understand?”

I nodded gravely.

“Interpol and the FBI have been working closely together for a long time investigating the Tavers family and Laszlo Varga. We believe they are trafficking in stolen art. By carrying the art into the U.S., you became an accessory to a major international crime. We don’t believe you knowingly participated in a crime, but we can indict you if you don’t cooperate with us. Are you willing to testify if need be?”

I swallowed hard. The moment of truth had come in a way I hadn’t expected. It was better than ordinary revenge. It was an even more powerful way out of the personal hell Barry had put me in. I sat up straight in the chair and looked Agent Turner straight in the eye.

I looked at Sumant, who nodded.

“Yes, of course, I will assist in all ways possible.” My heart raced, and a rare wave of euphoria washed through me. Just thinking about Barry and his despicable mother being in big trouble was starting to make me happy and excited. I was definitely having a delicious moment of schadenfreude.

“Yes, sir. I will testify.”